Once

This is not a true short story nor is it a poem; not sure if this could be classified as a flash fiction either. It was something I wrote to intentionally draw a reader's reaction or make him or her think.

 

Once, there was a girl who lived in my neighborhood

 

She was a pale and skinny girl, not much to look at

 

Her mother died when she was an infant, and her father fell in love with booze

 

She would go to high school in clothes that were well worn at best

 

She had no friends, and was taunted and abused by the relentless bullies

 

But, no one stood up for her, no, not even a teacher

 

No one would lend a listening ear, or a helping hand

 

No, not one; not even I

 

What was even sadder was when she died, killed by her own flesh and blood in a drunken

 

            rage, not a single soul appeared at her burial

 

No one was there to remember her

 

I am left to wonder if she had been given even the slightest of chances, would this have

 

            saved her?

 

I'm not sure, but I do know that I had an opportunity to make a difference once…

 

            and failed.

Reviews

[Christina May Shanaberg]

Yes, this writing does make you think and, unfortunately, I makes me remember times when I failed. I find editing my work is easiest when I read it like someone else wrote it, because it is very hard to be your own critic!

[deeps]

So bitterly sad and heart breaking!
Well written tho!